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more than one cyathus of pure wine, or perhaps, at the most, two. And this is the interpretation given to the passage by Chamæleon of Pontus, who was ignorant how fond of wine Alcæus had been. For this poet will be found to have been in the habit of drinking at every season and in every imaginable condition of affairs. In winter he speaks thus—

Now the storm begins to lower, And Jove descends in heavy snow, And streams of water stand congeal'd In cruel ice: let's drive away The wintry cold, and heap up fire, And mingle with unsparing hand The honied cup, and wreathe our brows With fragrant garlands of the season.

And in summer, he writes—

Now it behoves a man to soak his lungs In most cool wine; for the fierce dogstar rages, And all things thirst with the excessive heat.

And in spring, he says—

Now does the flowery spring return, And shed its gifts all o'er the land;

and he continues—

Come then, my boy, and quickly pour A cup of luscious Lesbian wine.

And in his misfortunes he sings—

One must not give one's thoughts up wholly To evil fortune; for by grieving We shall not do ourselves much good. Come to me, Bacchus; you are ever The best of remedies, who bring Us wine and joyous drunkenness.

And in his hours of joy he says—

Now is the time to get well drunk, Now e'en in spite of self to drink, Since Myrsilus is dead at last.

And, giving some general advice, he says—

Never plant any tree before the vine.

How, then, could a man who was so very devoted to drinking be a sober man, and be content with one or two cups of wine? At all events, his very poem, says Seleucus, testifies against those people who receive the line in this sense. For he says, in the whole passage—

Let us now drink,—why put we out the light? Our day is but a finger: bring large cups,